An odd choice of “happy” picture today as it follows the news that my last remaining granny passed away yesterday evening. However, I choose to remember her from some years ago when she was still the Gran I looked forward to visiting; who put so many hours into working with Save The Children; who (poor sod) helped raise me for a few months when we were between houses; who prevented warfare between my cousin and I by painting the helmets of half the toy soldiers with white paint so we had a “set” each; and who could defy the laws of physics with the amount of butter she could soak into a slice of toast without causing the whole thing to turn into mush (seriously, there’s a PhD paper in there somewhere).
That Gran sadly hasn’t been around for a few years, and she has finally been granted the rest she deserved some time ago. 97 is a hell of an age, but sometimes that number can just be a millstone rather than a milestone. I still believe she was just too stubborn (a family trait as many will know) to shuffle off this mortal coil. I can picture Death stood there, hourglass running empty and Binky by his side clip-clopping impatiently, while she occasionally looks up from reruns of Coronation Street to say “Not yet – be patient.” He wouldn’t argue with her. I know I wouldn’t.
I feel that I said my goodbyes to my Granny Yvonne some time ago. I’m happy for her, knowing that she’s with my Grampa John again. I’m sure he’s missed her all these years.
